


Ernie Macmillan and the End of the World

by rainybookshopspoetry



Series: About Last Night [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Betting and Scheming and Shenanigans Oh My, F/F, F/M, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Rather a Lot of Alcohol, pub night, the Three Broomsticks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 12:12:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18738772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainybookshopspoetry/pseuds/rainybookshopspoetry
Summary: Ernie Macmillan is fairly certain that the world is imploding around him.





	Ernie Macmillan and the End of the World

Ernie MacMillan is fairly certain that the world is imploding around him.

It had all started when Zacharias Smith, looking harried and determined and a little wild-eyed, had arrived late at their weekly Hufflepuff pub night (or Puff Night, as Ernie liked to call it) and proceeded to snog the life out of Justin Finch-Fletchley.

Justin, for his part, had looked shocked for a moment before melting into the kiss, clinging to Zach’s arms like a lifeline, and Ernie wondered how he’d missed the fact that his best mate was apparently mad about Zach-the-Prat Smith. (And alright, none of their friends actually called Zach that anymore, given that he generally behaved marginally less twattish than before, but Ernie still found him rather insufferable). Zach was also, as far as they knew, categorically allergic to romance and had an impressively long string of short-lived ex-girlfriends, but, Ernie thought, watching him wind his arms around Justin’s neck and urgently tug him closer, there were apparently a few things they hadn’t known.

“I love you,” Zach said breathlessly when they parted, and Ernie had watched Susan’s, Hannah’s, and Terry’s jaws drop simultaneously, which would have been funny if this weren’t also likely an omen of the apocalypse.

“I’ve been an arse,” Zach had continued, and Ernie would have snorted if he’d been capable of making any sound, “and I’m sorry, and I know it’s probably too late, but…” at which point Justin had cut him off by snogging him so thoroughly Ernie was forced to concede that he’d probably have to get over his horror about the whole thing if Zach made Justin that happy.

The two of them had promptly Disapparated, leaving a table full of shell-shocked Puffs (and various partners) in their wake. Terry’s eyebrows had risen so high they disappeared beneath his hairline, Neville was gaping like a fish and Susan looked as though she’d seen a Dementor. Even Hannah, who was normally unshakeable, looked rather stricken, although the reason for that soon appeared in the form of Graham Montague, who’d peeled himself away from the crowd of Slytherins at the bar – all of whom had been shamelessly watching the spectacle – to make his way to their table, pausing in front of Hannah and holding out his hand expectantly.

“You owe me ten Galleons,” he informed her with just a hint of smugness.

Marcus Flint brushed past them then, scowling fiercely, which seemed perfectly normal, until Oliver Wood followed a moment later and put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “Babe,” began Wood cajolingly, and Ernie was pretty sure he was going to die of heart failure at this rate.

“Come on,” Wood continued, “we’ve barely stayed for one drink, no sense going home yet.”

“No point in staying when all our friends are late to our bloody engagement party,” Marcus grumbled back, and really, Ernie thought, he was sure there had to be a limit on how many shocks one could suffer in a single night.

As if on cue, Terrence Higgs and Adrian Pucey burst through the door, both looking rather windswept and glowing with elation. Their smiles faltered a bit when they noticed the murderous scowl on Flint’s face, but Pucey (rather bravely, Ernie thought), smiled placatingly and stepped forward. 

“Sorry Marc, we got a lead on our latest case and we had to follow up on it, we got here as soon as we could.”

Flint still looked supremely unimpressed, but when Higgs added “We’ll buy you the biggest bottle of Ogden’s they’ve got,” and Wood fixed him with an earnestly hopeful expression, he relented. Before they’d even returned to their table by the bar, the door opened again and Miles Bletchley swept in, hand-in-hand with his wife Astoria.

“Sorry, sorry,” he began, barely even flinching at the truly venomous glare Flint sent him, “the baby just wouldn’t settle, and Mom would kill me if I left before I got her to sleep.”

The door had barely even shut behind him when it opened again to reveal George Weasley and Lee Jordan, grinning widely and brushing what looked like soot off of the front of their robes.

"Apologies for our lateness, lads!” called George.

“And lasses!” added Lee with a wink.

“We had a slight difficulty with our newest set of customisable fireworks – reckon our neighbours wouldn’t be too happy if we’d left the courtyard on fire.”

“Or the hole in the roof!” chimed in Lee.

Ernie turned to watch Flint, who looked slightly mollified by the appearance of a truly enormous bottle of Firewhiskey and the fact that Oliver Wood was practically sitting in his lap. Ernie was just taking a fortifying sip of the fresh pint that had appeared at his elbow and wondering if he could inquire exactly when the two Quidditch captains had gotten together without sounding like an oblivious idiot when the door opened once more and Percy Weasley hurried inside, one arm snugly around Pansy Parkinson’s waist.

Flint, who had been pouring a row of shots that all appeared to be smoking, just raised a sardonic eyebrow at their arrival. It took Percy a few tries to form words – Ernie noticed he looked rather more agitated than normal - but then he burst out “We’re having a baby!”

The pub descended into a sort of shocked silence, broken by an excited squeal from Daphne Greengrass and a sort of strangled exclamation from Ron Weasley, who had stood up from a corner booth in open-mouthed shock. Then George and Wood rushed forward to clap Percy on the shoulder, Montague hooted triumphantly and held out his hand expectantly to Flint for what seemed to be a substantial number of coins, and several people clapped and called their congratulations before the hum of conversation started up again.

Pansy rolled her eyes good-naturedly and looked up at Percy with an expression that Ernie could only describe as fond exasperation. 

Ernie had heard about Percy and Pansy, of course, but he’d just assumed it was nothing more than a politically advantageous alliance for the Parkinsons after the war, or a necessary union given the rapidly dwindling numbers of Pureblood families, or some other product of unfathomable Slytherin scheming.

But, he realised with a sinking sense of impending doom, watching Weasley smile besottedly down at Pansy, who couldn't quite bite down on a tiny, genuine smile of her own, that’s not what it was at all.

“Oh my God,” Ernie voiced with feeling. “They’re in love with each other.”

“I said ages ago that they were a cute couple!” Susan admonished, just as Neville said, “I told you I cried at the wedding!”

“I thought you were joking!” Ernie sputtered at both of them, reaching over to pinch himself on the arm to make sure this wasn't just the product of a very, very bizarre dream. It hurt rather a lot.

Since then, he's been able to settle his nerves a bit with both the rest of his pint and a fortifying shot of the Firewhiskey Pucey and Higgs had gifted to Flint after George and Lee had decided that the whole bar needed to join in on a toast and commandeered the bottle when Flint had gone to the loo. Ernie is just wondering whether he should start paying more attention to the gossip pages of the Daily Prophet or make more small talk with his coworkers about the current "it couples" of the Wizarding World when Wood and Flint pass by their table again. 

“And where are you lot off to?” Warrington asks from his position next to the rest of the Firewhiskey, which he seems to be guarding rather protectively.

“Figured we’d head up to the Quidditch pitch for old times’ sake,” Flint tells him with a shit-eating grin, and the group at the bar breaks into a chorus of groans. Several of them, Ernie notices, seem to be digging out their wallets while Montague cries joyfully, “Pay up folks! Five Galleons apiece.”

Ernie frowns slightly, wondering why anyone would want to play Quidditch this late, and if they were even allowed on the old pitch anymore – surely Hogwarts had better security now? -, when he overhears Wood whisper to Flint, “I still have my old key for the captain’s office,” and immediately wants to Obliviate himself.

***  
Ernie’s just starting to wonder if things have finally calmed down, taking a sip from a fresh pint that he doesn’t actually remember ordering, when an outraged-sounding voice cuts through the buzz of chatter and the low hum of the Weird Sisters track he swears has been on repeat. “I cannot believe you, Cormac MacLaggen!”

Padma Patil is standing a few feet in front of MacLaggen, who is hastily trying to extricate himself from Romilda Vane behind the bar, where he had apparently volunteered to help her with the drinks as a flimsy excuse to wrap around her like the Giant Squid. Romilda’s face is darting back and forth between them in rapidly dawning comprehension, although, Ernie notes with grudging respect, she looks much more intrigued than afraid in the face of Padma’s palpable anger.

“You blew off dinner with my parents to come here and flirt with Romilda Vane?” she continues vehemently, silencing him with a vicious glare when MacLaggen tries to get a word in. “I can’t believe I ever thought you could change. You’re still the same arrogant, selfish, idiotic prick you were back at Hogwarts, and I’m done wasting my time with you.” MacLaggen is glancing helplessly back and forth between Padma and Romilda, who’s got her arms crossed over her chest and is wearing a scowl that’s nearly as ferocious as Padma’s. “You’d have been in for a disappointing night anyway,” she tells Romilda pointedly, not bothering to lower her voice. The pub falls completely silent for a moment before someone – Ernie thinks it might be Padma’s sister – lets out a woop, before the crowd breaks into applause.

It's difficult to hear over the chatter - several groups appear to be toasting to different variations of "And good riddance, the tosser!" but Ernie thinks he hears Montague call out, "Tell Granger she owes me 2 Galleons!"

“Word of advice mate,” Blaise Zabini says in a faux-conspiratorial tone, clapping a shell-shocked looking MacLaggen on the shoulder. “If you’re going to date two girls at the same time, it’s probably best to tell them.” And with that, he turns on his heel and strides out the bar with his arm around Ginny Weasley’s waist, who is, Ernie realizes faintly, also hand in hand with Luna Lovegood.

***  
“I knew that he was going to cheat – Saw it this morning,” Ernie overhears Padma confiding to Romilda at the bar when he goes to get their next round of drinks. “Figured he deserved to be taken down a peg a little,” she finishes with a small smile, and Romilda grins, wordlessly sliding Padma another martini and what Ernie thinks might be her Floo address. 

Ernie's just set the tray of drinks carefully back on the table when a pair of furious-sounding voices emerges from the general buzz of conversation from the back corner, and he turns to see Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, standing on opposite ends of their table and glaring daggers at each other.

“I’m so tired of your – of your condescending bullshit!” bursts out Lavender. “None of my boyfriends are ever good enough – you’re always critical of something!”

“I’m just so sick of seeing you let these blokes treat you like crap, Lavender!” Parvati bites back, angrily swiping an errant strand of hair from her face. “You’re better than this” she adds, and Lavender’s cheeks flush a dark, livid red.

“No one could ever live up to these expectations, Parvati!” she cries.

“I would,” Parvati snaps, and then immediately brings her hand up to her mouth in horror, eyes wide as she and Lavender regard each other with identical expressions of shock. A rather conspicuous silence falls. 

Parvati pauses for a moment, then takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, meets Lavender’s gaze straight on, and, voice steady, repeats, “I would”.

“I’d call you after dates, and send you flowers, and never tell you you were being stupid when you were upset, and I know it’s not the same for you Lavender, and I’m sorry, I swear I’ll stop being so critical, I haven’t been fair to you and I–"

Parvati trails off in confusion as Lavender smiles. It’s hard to tell in the dim light of the pub, but Ernie thinks there might be tears in her eyes. He feels rather breathless as Lavender steps forward to interlace her fingers with Parvati’s.

Parvati glances down at their entwined hands for a moment before glancing back up at Lavender, a confused frown warring with the hopeful expression in her eyes.

“But – you don’t -” she starts, biting her lip.

“I didn’t tell you about all the dates I’ve been on,” Lavender tells her with a smile. When Parvati continues to stare at her wordlessly, Lavender adds, "You were so critical of the boys, I was just so afraid what you might say about the girls."

Parvati huffs out a slightly hysterical-sounding giggle, shaking her head and reaching up with her free hand to swipe at her eyes.

"God, I've been so stupid," Parvati bursts out, and then Lavender takes another step forward to cradle her face and pull her into a deep kiss.

This time it's Padma who leads the bar in a round of cheers, and there seems to be a lot of conspicuous sniffling from Ernie's table as Neville, Hannah, and Susan all pass around a Conjured handkerchief. Ernie nearly spills his drink all over himself when he's jostled by a rather glum-looking Seamus Finnigan, who presents a second bottle of Firewhiskey to the table of Slytherins, nodding resignedly at Montague. 

"Thought for sure there'd be nudity," he mutters dejectedly as he passes by their table on his way back

Ernie glances over to the bar to see Romilda nonchalantly turning the volume on the music back up to normal, and she sends him a conspiratorial wink.

**  
“Sod it all,” Ernie thinks, and slides into a stool at the bar, nodding wearily at an entirely too pleased-looking Romilda Vane when she holds up a bottle of Brandy enquiringly. He figures he’ll just stay for a couple more drinks, and with luck, he won’t remember any of this in the morning. He’s just downed the shot, coughing violently at the unfamiliar burn in his throat, when he notices someone sliding into the seat on his right. And now, he knows that the world must be ending, because Daphne Greengrass has sat down next to him, and she’s smiling.

He tries hastily to wipe the tears that have trailed down his cheeks from the Brandy and hopes futilely that he isn’t the approximate colour of a tomato, but given the amount of alcohol he’s had and his complete and total ineptitude when it comes to women, he’s fairly certain it’s a lost cause.

Because beautiful girls aren’t interested in talking to him, and they don’t smile at him like that, and even if by some miracle they do end up having a conversation, he inevitably ends up sputtering or fumbling and they move along. Because even if he’s mostly grown out of his baby fat and lost the tendency to be overly pompous when he’s nervous, he’s still awkward, proper, hopelessly Hufflepuff Ernie MacMillan. 

And Daphne’s just sitting there, with her long blond hair in perfect waves, and her suntanned skin glowing faintly in the low light from the bar, with a bright smile on her impossibly soft-looking lips. “Daphne Greengrass,” she tells him with a smile – as if he would have forgotten.

“I remember,” Ernie says hastily, reaching forward to shake her hand enthusiastically before he can stop himself, but she takes his hand immediately, her smile turning slightly amused. “We were in the same year at Hogwarts, of course, and we had Herbology together in fourth year, and I think we shared a carriage to Hogsmeade in February of our sixth year,” and oh god, why can’t he stop talking? “I did see you at your sister’s wedding, you know you looked absolutely stunning in that shade of pink, and I believe we crossed paths in Diagon last summer when I was looking for a new broom with Justin..."

“Can I buy you a drink?” Daphne asks when he finally pauses for breath, and for what must be the sixth time that night, Ernie’s mouth drops open.  
He is aware that sitting with his mouth agape in front of the most beautiful woman he’s seen up close is not the smoothest of responses, but really, Ernie thinks, he’s just pleased that he hasn’t fallen out of his chair. He’s seriously wondering if maybe someone spiked his drink for a laugh, or this isn’t all just the product of some very bizarre, very detailed curse. He’s broken out of his reverie when he feels a stinging hex hit him from the direction of the bar, and he swears he can see Romilda Vane slipping her wand back up her sleeve when he glances that way, rubbing his wrist, but then he turns back to the girl next to him, who is beautiful and lovely and is still waiting patiently. He takes a deep breath and thinks, why the hell not.

“Sure,” he tells her with certainty, and Daphne just smiles wider.

**  
“Did I just see Daphne leave with Ernie MacMillan?” Pansy asks in shock.

“Um,” begins Percy, who looks hilariously torn between his desire to provide the right answer and the need to prevent his newly-pregnant wife from going into hysterics.

Astoria looks positively thrilled, although that might have less to do with Daphne and more to do with the fact that a scandal involving her sister might just prompt her parents to forget about the fact that she married Miles Bletchley when she rather obviously 4 months pregnant.

Behind the bar, Romilda is beaming, casually waving her wand as she dries a glass so that Theo Nott's bar stool slides just a little closer to Cho Chang, both of whom are blushing rather furiously. Only one person, in fact, looks dismayed by this recent turn of events. Rather than radiating self-satisfaction and collecting his dues on another successful bet, Graham Montague looks rather flabbergasted. He opens and closes his mouth for a few seconds before taking a fortifying sip of his drink. 

"I owe McGonagall ten Galleons," says Montague in astonishment.


End file.
